


Haunted Elegy

by AmerValk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, F/M, Gen, NSFW, Pregnancy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-02-08 19:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmerValk/pseuds/AmerValk
Summary: Fen'Harel has haunted her dreams, Idril can barely sleep for fear of seeing him again. Finally, she has had enough and is beginning to consider the Rite of Tranquility. Cullen, however, has no desire to see this happen and intends to convince Idril otherwise. Even if all he has to offer is himself.A/N: This is another story with my Inquisitor, Idril in a post-Trespasser romance. Kind of connected to "In Harvest Teach." I am a huge Cullen/Trevelyan fan but this fic has been haunting me for the past month after my Solas Romance play through.





	1. Frail Memories

Skyhold’s library was lonely without Dorian. He was always nestled in the corner chair, reading a book by the light of the window. ‘What I wouldn’t give to see him now?’ Idril thought, remembering how he always found a way to brighten her days during the fight against Corypheus. She could use his support now. Or at least the sound of his voice. Instead she felt the taciturn pacing of Cullen behind her. She discerned his thoughts as he worried over her. Idril wasn’t resentful for his care, she merely desired levity in this trying time. Avoiding the dreams was proving more difficult as the veil disappeared and she was at her wits end. She merely wanted an uneventful nights sleep.

‘Maker preserve me,’ Cullen thought, anguished as he watched his inquisitor waste away. In his time among the templars he had observed friends succumb to Lyrium addiction and withdrawal. Even he shared a dangerous brush with his own symptoms, but all of that was nothing compared the dark circles and slow decay of the woman he loved.

“Did you sleep last night?” he inquired, hopeful as she smiled at him. His hand was firm on her shoulder as she poured over a book. Shaking her head, Idril answered,

“Not so much. I got a few hours, though.” Cullen frowned, this was not good. She was growing resistant to the sleeping draught that severed her connection to the fade when she slept. He knew the next solution, and it terrified him.

“We can go back to Vivenne. She may be able to make something stronger,” He suggested. “Or Cassandra has suggested meditations.” He scrambled for any ideas that was not becoming tranquil. Even the thought made him pale. It was as if Idril ignored him, although she was merely focusing as her eyes scanned the pages carefully. The Rite of Tranquility was no easy thing to consider. As a mage, the notion offended her, it was at best a punishment for errant spellcasters, but under any circumstance it was a desperate act. Idril narrowed her eyes. 

“Cullen, what if it’s the only way?” A dark frown crossed his features as he looked at the text she was reading. It referenced a scholar driven mad by night terrors who demanded the rite be performed on her. The fact it was tempting frightened Idril. To lose herself, to lose everything.

“We don’t even know if that will work? What if he can simply undo it? It is by no means irreversible. You would lose yourself for no reason.” Cullen tried to be rational, but the thought of losing Idril was only made worse by the fact he was so intimate with the ritual. He was not remotely conflicted, there had to be another way.

“The ritual of Tranquility will not kill me.” He felt a deep pain in his chest at even the prospect of Idril, with a dull, focused expression. It was not fair, she had saved him, how could Cullen not save her? It was his duty, and no matter how hard he wanted to fix this, Cullen was helpless. 

“I have seen it performed,” he whispered. His voice was soft and full of fear, “You will live, but what makes you Idril will not. You will sleep, eat, and work. You cannot be the inquisitor and tranquil, nor can you lead an army...” His next words came from a selfish place, “Nor can you love again.” Idril felt tears drip from her eyes as Cullen unconsciously gripped her soldier with more strength. Still his touch was tender as he massaged the muscles beneath his fingers. He was right, it was more than a little death, but did she deserve more? “You do, Idril. You saved the world, you deserve much more.” She blinked as he read her thoughts, or did he just know. She glanced up from the text and knew that she could not hide herself from Cullen. She had watched him work with Templars as they struggled with addiction . Idril witnessed the grace and empathy he had for those who suffered under impossible circumstances.

‘I don’t always need to be strong,’ she admitted internally. Shutting the book, Idril set it down and her shoulders trembled. Still, her rock was behind her. Cullen had been at her side for so many years, and even when she was at her weakest he held her aloft. Embracing him was as simple as breathing. She fit in his arms, against his chest as if she was meant to be there.

“What if it’s the only way?” she wept. Her tears were wet against his neck as Cullen held her close. “I don’t want to lose everything, but the veil is so thin.” In the past decade, Fen’Harel had been busy. Once most of the elves disappeared, Solas must have worked tirelessly .This did not surprise Idril, but it served as a reminder to his tenacity. The very vigor that had united them and separated them over a decade ago.

“I’m no expert, but if the barrier--the veil between our world and the fade is so thin what would it serve to perform the rite. It would be useless, if it works at all?” He asked, conjecturing by what little he knew about the fade. Idril had taught him about the relationship between the worlds and why Solas’ intentions were a threat. Cullen lifted her chin and kissed the tears that fell on her cheeks.

“Remember what you told me once. You believed I was strong to endure the trials of my addiction. I believe you can endure this. Maker knows that your strength pulled us through Corypheus. We need you Idril. And I must confess, I need you.” Cullen paused considering his next words with a tactician’s caution, “And perhaps Solas does as well. And maybe you can save him still, convince him not to go through with his plan You are not so easily forgotten.” It was difficult to admit but he only held a part of Idril. The part that fit perfectly in his arms, that existed in this world. Fen’Harel had claimed something far more substantial. He kissed her forehead as he sheltered her from the storm that surrounded her.

“Then why did he leave me?” She asked. Her voice a sharp whisper, “Why could I not be enough to convince him?” Cullen shushed her with a gentle kiss, brushing his lips against hers. His words were as soft as the petal of a flower, as he assured her,

“Ambitious men are never satisfied. It is why I remained here. I am not a great man. I am the man that I need to be,” he explained. “Whatever path you chose I will remain,” Cullen wanted to says more. As a former templar vows came naturally to him. It was second nature to pledge himself into the service of another. Idril scrutinized his words, her eyes narrowed as she retorted, tired of feeling helpless and pitied,

“I am not a goddess, nor am I one of your charges, Cullen.” If she needed levity it was clear she had to create it herself. She rested her head against his firm chest, enjoying the feel of his arms around her, as she always did “I have a deal for you, commander,” she used his title in jest, “Can we spend a few days not fretting over whether I sleep at night. I hear the foliage in the Hinterlands are ideal this time of year. ” She suggested, curling her fingers between the ends of his hair. Then, Cullen smiled at her, she saw a weight lift from his shoulders, at least for now. 

“And in return, Inquisitor,” Cullen teased, drawing Idril in for a kiss. His passion encouraged by the thought of a break from the confines of Skyhold and in the open fields of Ferelden. She succumbed to the feel of his lips against hers, his tongue parting her lips. Idril breathed and found herself at his mercy. She caught her breath as they broke the kiss and answered,

“In return, I will delay my decision to become tranquil. For now, at least. I simply want to be your companion in the country, isn’t there a villa in the hills there?” She considered, raising a brow enticingly. “It’s probably a ruin but I don’t think you’ll mind,” she stated assumptively, entwining their fingers together. Idril stood on her toes and cupped his face. His cheeks always had a rough stubble that ran course against her fingers, “I need this.” She spoke quietly, capturing Cullen with her piercing blue eyes. 

“My lady Inquisitor, that is something you never need beg for. I accept your terms.” He regarded this as his most important negotiation, in a lifetime of service, as he held her close. Perhaps he was selfish, but greed was not always a bad thing. ‘Bless the Maker,’ he prayed. He knew he was the luckiest man in Thedas. Even though she looked confident, Idril still doubted so much, but she concealed it from Cullen. His faith had always guided her.


	2. Solemn Stillness Holds

The ancient villa was rustic at it’s best. Historically, it was the home of an Arl’s mistress and nestled in the mountains, like a hidden lover. Even after the conflict with Corypheus no one had claimed the ruin and Idril found it was one of her favorite places to simply exist. The veil was dangerously thin and the tingle of the fade provided a subtle reminder of things past. She felt the tingle of the fade, like a familiar tickle against her skin. Steps echoed on the ground and she flinched. This was real, it had to be. Cullen still snored softly at her side. The embers of the fire barely lit the surrounding area. He was fast asleep, it was almost too convenient. Still, he was at peace, Idril had no desire to wake him. Fortunately, he did not even notice her rise from the blanket. Idril’s bare feet were silent as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Then she felt him, Solas was here, in the flesh. She could feel him as they fade began to wrap around her, drawing her in. Even if this was a dream, this may be the last chance she had to confront him. Idril picked up speed and the balls of her feet barely struck the ground as she sought out her lover. 

Solas was like a beacon beneath the moonlight. Once she observed his handsome profile, just visible between the faint starlight, Idril pinched herself. She was so desperate for this to be real. When she did not wake up next to Cullen, she inhaled sharply. “Solas! Don’t leave!” Idril cried out, as he turned away from her. She demanded his attention. As she closed the distance between them, her toe caught on a rock and she tumbled to ground. Effortlessly, Solas caught her. It was difficult to describe but it felt right to hold her now. Slowly, he raised her from the ground, as he had done so often before. Still, his eyes were distant and his expression guarded. IIdril felt his hands wrap around her forearms and sighed, ‘This was real!’ She struggled to catch her breath as her heart beat giddy inside her chest. “Why are you here?” Idril asked, astonished she found the breath to speak at all. Solas smirked at her, though his eyes were love-struck despite his mischievous expression.

“Vhenan, you should be more careful,” he replied. It was not that he did not have an answer for Idril. It was overwhelming to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, as her cheeks burned bright red. His affectionate title caused her soul to leap, as did the tenderness in his voice. Everything else seemed irrelevant as he held her in his arms. Idril could barely breathe. Absently, Solas traced the smooth, flawless skin of her cheeks and caressed her jawline. ‘Nothing good can come of this,’ he reminded himself but his resistance felt so faint. He saw the same, distinct light in her blue eyes as her gaze demanded his attention. There were a thousand words between them, he had no idea where to begin, however, his mortal body betrayed his resolve. His hand drifted to the curve of her hip and traced it. Idril’s heart raced as he touched her intimately. She felt each detail of the pad of his hands through her clothing as his lips closed on hers. His mouth was possessive and demanding. Solas spent so many nights alone, missing her warmth, missing his heart. Idril was his one connection to this sundered world. She was strong and wise, her leadership at saved the world many times. If he allowed her, she could save him as well. 

He lowered her to the ground with a delicate reverence. Solas did not break the kiss between them as his hands explored her lazily. Even though he felt a baser urgency, dragging his finger’s agonizingly along her skin, he was determined to take his time. Cullen would be asleep for hours yet, and this was no race. He committed each nuance to memory. The way her eyes fluttered when his fingers traced her nipples and her soft pliant moans as he tickled the skin of her breast. Solas, the man, adored this woman as she drew his mouth to hers once more, unfulfilled by his teasing caresses. Fen’Harel was silent as the Dread Wolf set aside his mantle. His divinity shorn all he observed was Idril beneath him, her piercing eyes unwavered. His gaze was sympathetic but his hands were far more demanding. Every part of her was a masterpiece, from her naked face, the sensitive and delicate hollow of her throat so soft underneath his lips, and the faint glow of her skin beneath the moonlight as he painted her with kisses. Solas had seen civilizations rise and fall but nothing was more beautiful and perfect than her. Then, he saw her arm, or rather the damage he inflicted on it, on her. It broke his heart, his expression crestfallen, as Solas realized it was he who did this to her. In her passion, he felt her desire and her pain as well. 

Solas’ hands suddenly ceased to move along her skin and Idril opened her eyes to see he fixated on her missing arm. He looked sad and thoughtful, even though she felt the strength of his passion. She lifted herself from the ground and kissed his neck, drawing his attention away from her scars. “Solas?” She asked, both hungry and scared. Would he leave again? “It’s not your fault.” He shuddered as her lips touched his skin, waking him from his thoughts.

“But it is. It was my magic that hurt you, my heart that sundered yours, and my touch that took your arm. You still want me after all that?” Solas asked, embracing her. His arms trembled, “You forgive me for all this. I deceived you.” He smelled her dishevelled hair, it was faintly like jasmine and moonlight. Idril knew as he spoke, he would leave soon. She sensed it but refused to simply allow him,

“I don’t care,” she admitted, “Perhaps once I did, but those scars are faded.” Idril caressed his face, her fingers slid along his jawline. “I still love you, what we had. How could another possibly replace you?” Solas could not even look at her. He was a monster, and she loved him for it. He removed her hand, his eyes cold and unyielding as he felt the burden of his glorious purpose once more.

“This cannot be, Vhenan,”he whispered, just as much to himself. “I will not haunt you anymore,” he said evenly as he separated himself from her entirely. “Please despise me,” he begged.Solas’ perfect baritone nearly cracked as he choked back a sob. His chest convulsed, as he watched with alien eyes, as he hurt his Vhenan again. Idril should not have been surprised as he disappeared into the mists. The veil reformed and her skin felt normal, it was heart that shattered. However, she had cried far more times than she could count. She grabbed the blanket with her hand as she stood from the ground. Her entire body shook and her nerves were alive with lust and fear. Idril’s sadness lingered as a familiar weight resting on her shoulders. It would have been safer to return to Cullen, but she knew that the Dread Wolf would guard her now. His agents would be close by and she felt safe knowing that they were near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to the Solas/Lavellan community, Bioware for making such a tragic couple to write about, and AO3 member Winrael who assisted with some of the developmental aspects of the fic.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Winrael/profile


	3. Many a flow'r is born to blush unseen

Thedas was a remarkable thing of beauty, Idril watched with serene patience as morning dawned. The blades of grass were cold, wet, and soft against her feet, they just tickled the sole and she gasped as she approached Cullen. He was still asleep, but she knew he would wake soon to begin his morning prayers and exercise. He still had faith and believed in the maker. Even after all this time, after the revelation of Fen’Harel and a world far more ancient than any of them knew. She hesitated before she lay at his side, Idril could still feel Solas lips against hers and her heart beat like a drum. It was so loud she thought she would wake Cullen as she joined him. Once he sensed the weight of Idril pulled close instinctively and murmured, his lips just brushing her forehead. Just as Solas confounded her senses, Cullen’s arms felt safe and strong around her. The faint resistance of his stubble against her skin calmed her wild heart. It wove a spell as she drifted back to sleep, without any fear of the fade. 

When she fell asleep, the grass was still kissed by dew but as she awoke it was mid-morning. While Cullen was not at her side, he was close by, preparing breakfast for them. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he prepared bacon and a few eggs. “You’re awake,” Cullen noted. Idril observed a tired weariness in his eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. Had he noted her absence last night? She probably worried him, Idril realized and she smiled through the trepidation. “Did you sleep well?” He asked thoughtfully. He spoke sincerely and without guile. 

‘He suspects nothing,’ she was relieved as Cullen simply cooked, smiling without solicitation as he focused on the pan of frying breakfast. “I did. No dreams this time,” Idril offered, at least telling him part of the truth. The encounter with Solas was not a dream. “Sorry, I overslept. I’m not used to getting a good night's rest,” she lied effortlessly. Part of her wanted to tell him what had happened, but they were intimate now. If he suspected her deception, Cullen did not reveal it.

“Who would have imagined you sleep in the wilds quite so well?” Cullen commenting, hating to admit that he had grown used to creature comforts. “Perhaps age is wearing me thin,” he grinned, flipping the bacon one last time. After the first lie, the rest came far easier. 

“Please,” she replied vividly. “I’m Dalish, and even if I wasn’t. I’ve slept in more campsites than I can properly recall. I think one was just through the valley.” Cullen admired how her voice took on a delicate lilt when she described her home. Still, he knew better than to remark on her face. It was one of the many was that Solas had changed her entirely. 

“Next time I’ll get an aravel and we can travel together,” he suggested, almost teasing. “If you want to travel that is...” Cullen paused in thought as he considered exactly what he said, “I am sorry. I was ridiculous for suggesting the aravel.” A blush settled on his cheeks, “But if traveling would make you happy...” He then trailed off as he noted Idril’s intent stare. He could not discern whether she was insulted or amused. “Never mind. I’ll just shut up,” Cullen finished and resumed his attentions toward breakfast. Idril was charmed by his flustered demeanor and shifted moved to kiss his cheek warm from was heated by the cookfire. She brushed against it with an impossible lightness and her stomach stabbed with guilt, or was it hunger? She despised lying to her commander, her dearest friend and retorted, her tone dangerously reactionary.

“My wandering days are over, Commander,” Idril reminded him, trying not to remember how this entire discussion was built on deception. “Skyhold is my home now, my clan is gone. The Inquisition is my family. Also,” She scrutinized him, her fierce blue eyes gleamed like daggers and Cullen was startled by her intensity, “The Dalish do not wander because they have wanderlust but because it is better than being enslaved by Tevinter nobles or bound to some alienage.” Her voice embodied a hard edge. Too many shem, to use the term, assumed so much of the Dalish. Cullen’s face fell as he realized he was being scolded. 

“I didn't mean to offend,” he said quietly. His golden-amber eyes focused on the food he was preparing, “I forget, sometimes. Too much of the soldier, do you forgive me?” Cullen admitted, frustrated with himself for sounding so ignorant.

“I know, you were trying to simply amuse me. I’m not upset, really,” she smiled reassuringly. Idril was frustrated with herself. Cullen had never demanded anything of her that she had not freely given. He was her shield and her strength. Her lips set in determination. “Breakfast smells marvelous!” she praised, changing the subject deftly. “Where did you want to visit today?” She asked, her eyes scanning the horizon. 

Cullen watched Idril as she appeared to flit between subjects, marked by generous excitement and a hint of anxiety. Something seemed different in her as her blue eyes peered to the rocks and trees around them. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed in the fresh air around her and her the breeze flirted with her long, blond hair. She was a goddess to him, bright beneath the daylight and gleaming under the sun.

“Hey,” he offered quietly. Cullen removed the pan from the fire and set it aside, waiting for the contents to cool. His voice was nearly idyllic, a dulcet sigh that caressed her ears. Blushing, Idril regarded him inquisitively.She admired his eyes first, warm and and the hue of a deep, bright amber. As usual, the scar she found so intriguing caught her attention, resing just above his lips. In an untraceable moment, Cullen embraced her. His arms encircled her and cradled her against his chest. Instead of his usual armor and leather, Idril could feel the essence of cullen. The slight bulging muscles of his chest and the warmth that radiated from underneath the linen fabric. His breath against her neck was enticing, even more so after he raked his teeth against the skin of her neck. Idril giggled, Cullen always found a way to intoxicate her senses. In those moments, she forgot Solas and her fragile, wounded heart. At first she thought it was mere lust, until she realized it was a far more profound bond. His finger’s wound traveling, lazy patterns against the exposed skin of her stomach, tickling her just enough so she leapt further into his embrace.

“Commander!” She shrieked, attempting to escape his hold on her. Still, Idril found that his arms were a rather fetching vice as he resumed kissing the sensitive skin where her shoulder and neck met. She melted into as enticed her with sweet but teasing kisses.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he taunted her. Between the sensation of his breath against her skin and the raw scent of him, like fresh summer morning. “Allow me to show you how lovely you are,” He begged, waiting for her to reply. His hands traveled down her arms and grazed the sides of her breasts, still covered by her night clothes. It was not enough, Idril realized as she attempted to capture the attention of Cullen’s lips more directly. She pivoted with the grace of a dancer and caught his mouth before he could fiendishly distract her further. It only took a moment for her to get lost in that kiss. Their lips slid against each other in a desperate desire to find a new, more innocent world together, if only temporarily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, special thanks to Winrael and the Cullen Rutherford Fandom Community! Please kudos and comment. It is very appreciated.
> 
> Link for Winrael below:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winrael


	4. He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear

Solas did not wish to deceive Idril, he intended to stay away, even as their souls intertwined. They were both drawn to the same sorrows, twin essences dancing to a tragic waltz. She deserved happiness, she deserved a man who could love her back. Commander Cullen could serve that purpose, he had nurtured Idril after Solas had destroyed her. He tried to let her confide in him alone, but there was something intrinsically wrong with letting her go. Even as he became a symbol to his people and devoted his life to them her memory transfixed him, binding them together. That was why he lingered here now trapped in a precarious half-life while the other part of his soul still pulsed within Idril. Initially, Solas thought it was the magic he had unwittingly given to her through Corypheus and his orb. He attempted to dismiss the connection as incidental, or rather accidental, but it became increasingly clear to him that it was more than mischance. It was why he had to leave the Inquisition and Idril behind, or at least that was what he attempted to convince himself of as he sought her presence in the fade once more. The veil was almost non-existent at Skyhold. 

“Solas,” Briala warned, her voice always carried with an Orleasian purr as she nearly hummed, “You said you would stay away. The Inquisition is unaware of the events occurring around them, to go to her invites danger.” The stars in the valley twinkled brightly above them as he glared disdainfully at the elven spymaster, “Unless you intend to bring her into your cause, she is your weakness.” Solas attempted to ignore her, wondering at times why he needed the elf’s spy network when he was all but a god now.

“What would you know if it?” Solas sneered. “You’re no longer necessary here,” he hissed. Fatalistically, Briala shrugged. She knew better than to argue with those who believed themselves divine and left his side without a sound. The elvhen immortal watched over the lush valley he called his home, finding more comfort in ghosts than the living. Then without bidding, he felt Idril’s presence. This was not a trick of the imagination, he saw her and she saw him. Her blue eyes were wide with fear as she wondered what exactly was going on. 

“Solas?” she asked, her voice laden with questioning eagerness. However, even he was at a loss, how was she here yet so far away from him. Was the veil so weak that even thinking of Idril could summon her?

“Vhenan,” he croaked, still caught off guard as he felt the distance shrink between them despite being so far away. Perhaps Idril sought him out through her dreams, as she had done so often before. Normally, Solas would have analyzed how their minds were bridged but he was too distracted. Suddenly, they were back in Skyhold, together. She was painted in moonbeams and starlight that poured in from the expansive windows of her chamber. It should be impossible, he reasoned as he saw her rise from the mattress, her gaze almost unaware, awash with sleep and disbelief. He swallowed reflexively as his mouth felt dry and barren, wanting only for her. The sheets of the bed pooled at her waist. She was a masterpiece and Solas was most certainly in Skyhold. It was as if they saw one another for the first time, each barely comprehending their own actions as they rushed into an embrace. 

Idril crashed into Solas unthinking, unrelenting. Her lips met his and demanded his attention with a manic desperation. How often had Solas dreamed of this exact moment? His vhenan abandoning her self to him, forgiving him with each kiss. Her breath was coarse as she declared two simple words,

“Tonight, now.” They sounded like raspy growl, but the words unraveled Solas to the very center of his being. He obeyed without thought as her tongue demanded entrance into his mouth, overwhelmed by her indomitable focus. Idril’s fingers impatiently grasped at his clothing. She pushed aside his clothing, undressing the dreadwolf as layers of armor fell the ground from his broad shoulders. Beneath the armor, she revealed the truth of the man beneath the god, and the myriad of lies Solas relied on. Now, she was dreaming. Idril knew she had to be. Solas was here, he was not pushing her away. Hiding himself from her in divinity. Tonight, he was her immortal and he stayed as she demanded. And if she was asleep, Idril did not wish to wake. Tearing away at his clothes, Idril revealed more of her beloved.

Solas did not resist, nor attempt to run. His breath hitched as he felt the cold mountain air against his lean, muscled flesh. Even though he towered above her, watching her expression with intent, Idril traced the lines of along his chest. She was being intentionally indulgent, relishing in the sensation of his soft skin beneath her fingers. She refused to close her eyes, to miss any second of this dream and wake to an empty bed. Idril committed each individual muscle to memory, until her fingers teased his waistline, never quite satisfying him.

In all his memories, Solas had never seen her like this. Idril’s pale blue eyes were playful but determined as she smiled arrogantly. She was aggressive and intoxicating as she rose to her toes to kiss him once more. At first her lips were soft and yielding. She placated him with tenderness, and all he wanted was more. Then, when he finally relented, she fell with him onto the bed. Solas could not even remember when they were moving towards it. As his body collapsed into the mattress, Idril pursued him. Her shift, a wispy echo of fabric, did nothing to conceal her body. Like the veil, it was nearly intangible as it revealed the curve of breasts and the shape of her hips beneath his hands. How had he stayed away for so long?

With all thought and pretense obliterated Solas merely acted on instinct as his body pined for her. He felt the the ardor beneath her heated embrace as she lit them up like the brightest star. Solas had seen spirits of lust and desire, and here she embodied temptation. At first, his hands were fixed to her hips, Solas gripped her flesh with a covetous passion. He surrendered to the silky and supple texture of her skin with reverent invocation as Idril’s legs entrapped him within their wicked embrace. If anything, the lustrous satin of her shift heightened his lust as his hands traveled from her hips, teasing her with an artist’s expertise. Solas did not caress her randomly, but painted words of love against her warm canvas of her stomach. He was careful not to tickle Idril’s side, but enticed a becoming gasp as one held hand her still and the other cupped her covered breast boldly. He dragged his the nails along the sateen fabric, and the swell of her nipple, slightly raking her skin through the curtain of veil that separated them. In that moment, their bodies burned together like the brightest sun as they warmed each other in the frigid air. He watched with delighted expression as her body shuddered at the ministration and she held him to her with more determined ferocity. She nearly screamed as he playfully bit down on the nub through the fabric. This dream was impossibly vivid as she strained against him. Between the firmness of his manhood as it rubbed against her wet and inviting flower and the intoxicating stabs of pain as he nipped and massaged her breasts. Idril blossomed beneath his touch as a small rush of pleasure overcame her.

This was not how they usually made love, but Solas enjoyed it regardless. Idril writhed in his arms, whispering indistinct elvish as he drew her ever closer to transcendent pleasure. At first, Idril was confused as he kept her nightgown , but dared not question his reasons as he used the fabric to wondrous affect. Her skin was susceptible to his art, careful and exacting as ever. Idril nearly drowned, until his delicate finger brushed against her clitoris. Her entire body shivered as Solas lowered onto the bed and continued to tease her. The very tip of his erection simply rested at her core as he coaxed another orgasm from her with the patience of auter. Between the flickering firelight, like the pleasure he goaded from her, her fire only grew stronger. Idril was consumed by a dangerous stream of tiny, building orgasms that culminated in an explosion when Solas finally entered her.

She looked into his eyes and observed refined confidence. She knew that this was no accident. Solas had teased her relentlessly with one thousand little peaks. Each release was perfect, drawing her closer to that final end. Then, he was inside of her. At first, it was a slow torture, merely tempting her to draw them closer together. Her legs acted of their own accord as she demanded his full attention. Idril moaned powerfully beneath him. The pressure of his manhood, moving in exquisite thrusts, shattered Idril with a divine pressure. It was heaven sent as her entire body orgasmed, shuddering as he filled her so ideally.

As she broke around him, Solas lifted Idril carefully. There was no resistance as he held her near and invited her to kiss him, brushing his lips against hers, moving inside of her with a dizzying subtlety. She did not refuse him, claiming his mouth in ravenous kiss that left Solas gasping for air. He wanted to stop time as he broke the kiss whispered against her cheek, “Ar Lath Ma.” His hands were tangled in her hair, gripping the blond strands that traveled down her back in tousled pathways. His fingers were caught in a trap that he never wished release as he traced her spine.

“Solas!” She cried, her voice piercing the night air, as he drove her to pleasure again. Each stroke deeper and more profound than the next. His name rolled off of her tongue, as she declared, her voice frenzied and filled with intemperate, unbridled appetite. Then her voice dropped to an excited whisper,“Ma’lath, bellanaris.” It sounded like an answered prayer to his ears. She forgave him with three simple words, nothing else seemed to matter as his own release crashed upon her. Idril kissed him once more, sighing as he came within her. Her fingers gripping his shoulders, breaking the skin. She heaved against him, in one final crest as his gift filled her. Their bodies fell into the mattress in passionate abandon, like two perfect circles entwined.

As Idril tried to breathe again, panting. She blinked as if preparing to wake from a dream and realized that this was very real. Solas was still there his gaze focused on her with an overwhelming adoration. She lost her voice entirely, her words stolen from her. 

“Vhenan?” he asked. “Are you alright?” He noted her shocked expression and attempted to soothe her with kiss. At first, she responded to his lips. Solas kissed her gently, trying to calm her, but Idril was not pacified. Her face was stricken white as she seperated herself from him violently. She pushed herself from the mattress and sat against the headboard, creating distance between them.

“Solas! You’re real?” she demanded. He fully grasped her words and it caused his heart to fracture into pieces, “I thought...this was a dream...” she spoke softly. Is that how cruel he had been to her? That any moment like this could not possibly exist to her outside of the fade? 

“I--” He began, hoping to salvage something from the broken moment between them. Solas considered his words carefully, and was about to offer an apology, anything to fix the damage he had wrought.Solas knew just what to say when Idril exclaimed, 

“Cullen!” Her cheeks were red with shame as she saw her commander’s crestfallen face. Solas followed her gaze to the Commander, who glared at them both with wounded scrutiny. Cullen’s hand was clenched as he bowed his head before returning down the stairs and Idril followed reflexively. “Please wait!” She demanded, panicked and driven as she left his side without even a second glance. There were other words spoken but Solas had stopped listening. He waited for a few minutes, until he heard the door slam behind her. He knew then why he should have never kissed her in the fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were many ways this chapter could have gone, and even one of them could have been happier and satisfying. But that was not what the muse demanded. So for what it's worthy, I am very sorry for the angsty/crap attempt to translate elvish. Special thanks again to Winrael and the cullen rutherford fandom community. All the brilliant authors there are great and you should read them!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

The rain was a gentle caress, the storm had calmed, and Idril was soaked to her bones. Each cell in her body was drenched beneath an eternity of mistakes as she surrendered herself to the elements. This was what she deserved. Her body convulsed with a deep-rooted shiver she felt from her toes to her nose. Her hair stuck to her face in thick clumps as she moved it from her eyes. 

‘Yes,’ Idril sighed. Her thoughts were manic and unrelenting. ‘Better to be wet from the rain.’ She had almost forgotten the events that had transpired two months before. The night of unbidden passion that she shared with Solas. They crashed together like waves against the rocks, and it was real. However, after all this time it wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t love him anymore. She loved what he was to her, but he was selfish. He took from her until almost nothing was left. The gardens of skyhold were still and she heard the familiar brogue of Interim-Commander Rylen. They echoed from the main courtyard as he ran drills for the soliders. She heard each drop of rain, the grunting of soldiers, and hushed conversations. Idrill knew they talked about her, the absent Commander, and her child. Now she felt the determined steps of her caretaker, as Cassandra Pentaghast shoved open the garden door, her worry evident in her strength as it struck the keep’s stone walls.

“There you are!” the enraged seeker shouted, her voice interrupting the delicate rhythms of the late summer rains. Within moments, she was captured firmly by the older woman who, without any effort lifted her above her shoulder and carried her out of the rain.

“Inquisitor--Idril,” she corrected herself, “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Cassandra chided her with the harsh, but concerned tone of a mother as she returned her to her room in Skyhold. The rest of the guests at Skyhold were few, but fixated on the Inquisitor being cradled by Seeker Pentaghast. There were many hushed whispers, but those were simple enough to ignore. Besides there was only one voice she wanted to hear, just one.

“I see where your true heart lies,” Cullen had said, his voice broken with disappointment, crowned by self-loathing. Those were the words he used. The words that broke her heart. Cullen had always believed in her.

“You could have simply told me you wanted to be with him. How long did you intend to pretend you loved me?” He continued. The words were cruel, cutting her to the core. She attempted to summon even the weakest defense,

“Was this the first time? Or did I merely catch you this time?” Cullen bit, condemning her silence. That wasn’t the time for confessions, she grasped, so desperate for his hand as he pulled it away. 

“Answer me.” He commanded her, there was no warmth in his voice that night. 

“There was once,” she admitted, “But, Cullen--” 

She awoke to a firm thud as Cassandra placed her in the bath tub and called for mages. Idril was not fully certain when they arrived in her room, she must feel worse than she imagined. Her caretaker barked orders naturally, while feeling Idril’s head and made a disgusted noise. Then busied herself with the preparations for a warm bath and her medicinal needs.

“What were you thinking!” She roared, “You are with child and your body is already so weak from the anchor. If you are lucky you will survive this pregnancy and you go out into the rain as if you are simply taking a walk.” Idril could not, did not want to meet her eyes. She missed him, as she hated herself.

“I wanted to feel something--anything and the rain was cold and wet,” Idril answered, her slim figure was just beginning to show the first sign of pregnancy, even as body continued to convulse. The fever had yet to break. Cassandra’s glare told her everything that she needed to know.

“You sound like, Cole. You are unwell,” her hands were unintentionally rough as she checked her eyes, observing the steadiness of her gaze, “And nearly delirious.” A flurry of retainers arrived to her chambers and fussed over Idril like a child. Mages filled the basin with warm water as the healer prepared a bitter smelling tea from blood lotus and elf root. 

“Has he?” She started to ask her voice sounding weak. Cassandra raised a demanding brow and her expression softened as she knelt at her side and rubbed her shoulders in an attempt to sooth her.

“As you asked, I wrote the Commander. He said his brother was injured and that he needed to help with the harvest. He would return after it was completed. He sent his apologies that he would not return sooner.” Idril’s body deflated as she sunk into the basin. The Harvest Festival was months away and she only had his cold sincerity for comfort. 

“I want to be alone,” Idril stated as a virulent emotional numbness swept over her. Cassandra must be used to her melancholy, for she brushed it off easily as she offered her the bitter tea that was supposed to aid her with her pregnancy, and assist her in sleeping. It was second nature to follow her commands, as she sat up and cradled the tea in her hands. She drank it tentatively, wishing it were sweeter.

“Remind me again why the healers cannot use honey,” Idril quipped, finding some of her old humor, though the moment was fleeting. Her voice was filled with laughter that was all too rare now. Cassandra’s expression seemed to lighten at her momentary brightness,

“To make you laugh, but also because Dorian recommended that anything to sweet could upset your stomach and make it too rich and your health is paramount. He would be here himself but it is hard to get away from Tevinter when the Qunari forces are so persistent.” The Seeker was a natural guardian as she protected her charge, Idril admitted. She despised being preened over and would have rather disappeared into obscurity. Still, the tea settled her nerves and allowed her to think clearly once more.

“So, Varric says he will send you another book, until you are well and the Divine Victoria wishes to send you another nug. What do I say?” Idril considered her question, the chill leaving her body as it adjusted to the warmth of the bath.

“No to the nug, I am not as fond of them as she is,” her eyes followed to small pink nug that stared at her endearingly from the bed, awaiting it’s owners warmth. It looked guilty, like an informant. Did it expose her sneaking off? It must have, these nugs were remarkably intelligent and well-trained. Its ears flattened under Idril’s scrutiny. “But yes to the book, I could use something else to read.” 

Idril was somewhere between vexed and honored that so many of her friends supported her as her health deteriorated. She was aware that as Cullen left Skyhold, stating the need to spend time with his family. He sent for Cassandra to keep an eye on her and keep him informed on her health and welfare while he went away. It was empty reminder of how he still cared for her, even though she’d driven him away. Viscount Varric went out of his way to send her little presents from Wicked Grace card sets, advance copies of his books, and any other literary idea he managed to come up with. At one point he sent her a miniature copy of Bianca, to open letters, he explained. Dorian smothered her with medical care to the point where she ‘lost’ the sending crystal only to find it filled with messages from a very angry Tevinter magister.

“How dare you? You are acting like a child. Here I am, trying to help you overcome a pregnancy that will most certainly kill you without my aid. And you ignore me. Do you think it is easy to give birth after having the anchor tear apart your body for so long? My research says it is NOT that simple and that it will cause undue strain on your heart. This world was not meant for you to leave so soon. Also, tell that Commander of your condition. He will stop this ridiculous absence from your side at once and keep you company. You two were meant for each other. Stubborn ass! With love, Dorian Pavus.”

She treasured each message but was too timid to reply. Instead, she listened to this latest message over and over again. Idril had become fragile thing as Cassandra needed to help her out of the tub. She wrapped a towel around her narrow shoulders. Her grip was gentle as she dried her off, the towel absorbing the excess moisture from her soaking skin. 

“Honestly,” Cassandra griped, “You should simply allow me to tell the Commander that you are pregnant. He will not care whether he is upset with you and be where he is needed.” Idril frowned, she did not want to tell Cullen about her ‘condition’ as Dorian called it. She was not to be pitied, not at least by the one person she truly loved.

“I can dress myself,” Idril complained, wresting herself away from Cassandra. She stumbled a little, but was tired of being treated like an invalid. She was the Inquisitor, the savior of Thedas. She could put on her own pajamas. Cassandra appeared to be sympathetic as she was permitted to do some tasks on her own. 

“Dorian says once the fever has broken and you are no longer sweating so much you can get out of bed. He studied the fragments of your blood affected by the anchor and noted that the elven magic used by Solas was not compatible with your own abilities. It came into conflict and weakened your strength. Once Solas left, and stopped treating it, it was a matter of time before it killed you. Even when he removed the anchor, your constitution was going to remain weak. We do not worry needlessly,” she reported. Her compassion was evident as she turned down the fresh sheets.

Idril’s limbs were heavy as she climbed into the bed. Dorian’s medical expertise worked well, in tandem with Vivienne’s circle knowledge, suppressing her magic. Temporarily they were able to trick her body into thinking it was healthy. Solas warning to her back at the Exalted Council was clear, he would not be able to save her. He could only give her more time. If she was going to do anything with the time she had left, it would be to have her legacy live on.

Cassandra was relieved as Idril slept, finally. This was more difficult than she anticipated it would be. Watching the strongest women she knew in Thedas succumb to death was an exacting torture. Perhaps, she wondered, was that why Cullen stayed away now? Either way, she read over his letter once more.

Cassandra,

Thank you for keeping watch over the Inquisitor. You understand why I need to be away at this time. My family obligations require my attentions elsewhere. My nephew Mason has been accepted by Viscount Tethras as a squire in Kirkwall. I told him there were better places to squire but he refused to heed my advice in this matter. I have several connections in Starkhaven that would allow a more suitable education but youth does not heed wisdom. Of course, my brother has broken his leg in several places. Apparently my Mabari thought his druffalo was to be played with for sport and caused an accident with the plow. I must make notes never to allow an Orlesian to have his hand on a Mabari as the temperament is most unsuitable for a war dog. Perhaps I should share this information with King Alistair and he would begin a rescue of war dogs from such maltreatment.

I hear your disapproval all the way from the South Reach as I ramble about things of little consequence when the Inquisitor's health is failing. There are things you don’t tell me that General Rylen has conveyed. If something were truly wrong, surely, a Seeker would not withhold this.

Fondly,  
Cullen.

“Foolish man,” she whispered. Almost exasperated at the flippant nature of his letter. If she did not know him better, she would have thought Cullen heartless. But he was merely uninformed and wounded by the woman he loved. The pair of them were acting like characters in a story, as opposed to people. She was dying and she refused to tell him while Cullen pretended to be aloof and unaware of how serious her condition was becoming. Cassandra paced, in a vain attempt to work off the anxious energies and knew something had to be done. Her feet shifted as she observed the Inquisitor once more.

Despite her pregnancy beginning to show, her complexion suffered. Her abdomen was the only thing that expanded, while the rest of her was malnourished. The dalish elf had always been small, but she was positively waifish. She may not even be able to carry the infant to term, Cassandra realized. She saw the sending crystal resting on the desk and raised to her mouth.

“Dorian,” her voice thick with worry. “The fever hasn’t abated, as you hoped it would. Idril is delirious, I think it is not an issue of treatment. I am going to find the Commander and drag him back here.” She gripped the crystal tightly, her knuckles nearly white with rage and sadness. Cullen needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes. First, sorry this was delayed. I had it written about a week ago, but was playing Dragon Age 2 which just ate 60 hours of my life. So, to let you know the conclusion is most certainly coming for this narrative. As I've said before this story has been on my mind for a while, ever since I played through my Solas Romance and realized that Cullen was the last to leave her side in the Trespasser DLC. Second, I have drawn a lot of inspiration from the poem "Elegy Written in a County Church Yard." Most of the chapter titles have been from this particular poem. Link will be below. Third, I want to thank the Cullen Rutherford Fandom, as well as a few specific individuals:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/JoNogueira/pseuds/JoNogueira
> 
> And finally, Winrael: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Winrael
> 
> Poem as promised:https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44299/elegy-written-in-a-country-churchyard


	6. Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,   
>  This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,   
> Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,   
>  Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

The life of Cullen Rutherford could have been read as a classic tragedy of sorts, a true narrative passion. He saw the worst of the mages in Klinoch Hold, as they, in their repressed anger and rage, turned his comrades into pawns and blood sacrifices; he alone bore the strength resist. Then, he endured in Kirkwall, watching The Order he cherished torn apart by its own corruption and fear. The frail peace between mages and Templars was torn apart by the actions of one apostate. But, even through the eyes of the just, there was no moral high ground, just madness. 

For a time, he even experienced peace as the city rebuilt in the ashes of Chantry’s destruction; then the only war came. Until that point, his vision had been a narrowed scope of mages, Templars, and the authority of the Chantry. It was the burden of faith that had guided his life until he met the Inquisitor, Idril, he thought dreamly. An infinitesimal smile quirked on his full lips. The Dalish elf enchanted him from the first. Her blond hair lingered in his mind and the tattoos that graced her face did not mar her beauty. She was what his fertile imagination thought an elf ought to look like. Her eyes were an icy blue and gleamed with an intense defiance. She bore the weight of the world with such ease he could have sworn it had existed on her shoulders the whole time, and thus his life gained a new perspective. 

Cullen no longer framed his life by the cruelties inflicted upon it, but the journey that guided him. It began with Honnleath. His childhood home was a distant, pleasant memory to Cullen. There was the pond where he would hide away from his impossibly loud siblings; it was the only home he remembered before his servitude to the Templars. Then, there were barracks, Circles, and other places that he lived, until Skyhold when the Inquisition began. He avoided thoughts about the Inquisition now, perhaps the Inquisitor more specifically. She left a bitter taste in his mouth, even if he understood that she owed him nothing. He tried to forget the desperation in her eyes as he looked over the golden horizon. The late evening glow settled on the fields and it looked like a dream he’d had once. A pleasant smile settled on his face, and he felt a sense of peace here. Once, he would have been only too happy to share with Idril before he found her intertwined with Fen’Harel. 

Cullen frowned. He watched longer them longer than cared to admit, but he was held captive by the sheer grace of them together. It was as if they were two separate halves of a whole, and once joined they seemed complete. It was then he knew that even if Idril cared for him and no matter how much he loved her, her heart belonged to Solas. It shattered him entirely, destroying the delusions he’d painted of them sharing their lives. Cullen knew better, of course, but he selfishly proceeded with the affair out of hope. It was one thing to fall in love, but another to live a lie. He would rather face losing her, than endure the agony of loving someone who could never return his feelings. A coward would die many deaths, those with courage merely died once. He repeated like a mantra. 

Rylen’s account of the Inquisitor haunted him, even as he tried to forget it. Idril was strong and had survived the anchor and its effects up to this point. Also, Cassandra was with her and she had the best medical attention that the power and influence of the Inquisition could buy. Even so, her decline in health did not sit correctly with him but he pushed the thought aside. Why would she need him as well? Cullen reasoned bleakly. His mind wondered as he observed how the breeze wund through the fields, dancing with the golden grass. It would have been easier to forget, he thought, recalling the old Templars whose mind were burnt away by lyrium. Though not better, Cullen acknowledged. A forgotten life was worth nothing and he treasured his memories, even the painful ones that taunted him in his restless sleep. 

He was content to be lost in his thoughts until he heard his name echo over the horizon, “Uncle Cullen!” He heard, as Mason cried out, “You’re going to miss dinner!” He shouted. Cullen was proud of his nephew as he grew into a man. He inherited the same curly hair that he had plagued him as youth, and hoped that he would learn to manage soon. It threatened to spill over his brow like a gilded mop and made the youth look like a faun as he sprinted toward him.

“I’m on my way. No need to shout, “ Cullen replied, his long legs propelling him quickly away from the fields and he quickly caught up with Mason. The boy was wound with bursting energy as he excitedly bounded past him before following close behind. He could not contain the mirth in his voice.

“I’m so excited for Kirkwall!” He chattered, “I want to see all, well, most of the places from Hard in Hightown! And Varric says that I can even meet Hawke.” Mason’s voice was bright and optimistic, while Cullen took a deep breath. Reminding himself that much time had passed and that in the end, breaking the Chantry saved both the Templars and the mages. As much as he hated to admit it. 

His nephew was observant and asked, “Is everything alright? You seem upset?” 

Cullen forced himself to smile, and assured him, “Yes, it’s fine. It’s just strange to read about a period in your life from the point of view of someone else. Like looking in a broken mirror, “ he answered with warmth in his voice. 

Whatever his feelings, Mason could idolize whomever he liked, and Hawke was certainly worthy of praise. His actions and fortitude saved more lives than Cullen could properly count. The adolescent seemed to understand and added, nonchalantly, “Oh, there was a woman here to see you. Called herself Cassandra Pentaghast. She’s also staying for dinner. Aunt Mia’s orders!” Mason skipped ahead, failing to see as his uncle stop in his tracks. This was not correct, Cassandra was meant to be helping Idril recover from her illness, not be at South Reach unless the worst had happened. He was flooded with fear, had her illness taken her so soon that he could not even say good-bye. Cullen forced his feet to move forward and swallowed a lump in his throat. 

Then, Mason noticed as he fell behind and asked exuberantly,“Well, aren’t you coming?” The first foot moved, and then the second. Maker preserve me, he swore in silent reflection. For the first time in many years, he felt like a total idiot and utter ass. There was a sinking feeling in his chest as he caught up to Mason. Had he killed her? Cullen had dreamt of her death before in his nightmares. Was this why? He steadied his nerves, hoping that perhaps the news was better. Regardless, he was not optimistic. In all honesty, he could not even remember a time when something had gone right in his life.

Cullen’s steps were leaden and the pallor of his complexion never quite recovered, when he entered the dining room to see Mia setting the table. She was a tall woman, much like her brother and just as fierce as the Lion Commander of the Inquisition. Though her duties were confined to keeping his family in line.

“Ah, younger brother, Lady Pentaghast is waiting in my office. She said she wanted to talk to you, at once,” she barked in an attempt to imitate the former seeker. Mia’s face was irresistible as her laughter mocked him. Thoughtfully, she added, “She looked angry. I think you did something wrong.” If possible, the rest of the blood retreated from his face. Then the worst had happened, it must be. 

Cullen knew now and smiled faintly. His warm eyes, normally honey colored and bright, were filled with a deep sadness, “You know me,” the rest of the words were too difficult to say. He choked up, his amber eyes lingered on his sister who grew concerned. 

She set the ceramic plate on the table and offered, “I think you best see her soon. She doesn’t seem the patient type.” Her eyes did not stray from Cullen as his shoulders sagged and he walked towards the den like a condemned man.

The den was an amusing collection of books and trinkets. Cullen’s family had made quite the life for themselves here and no doubt his stipend as a Templar had provided his family with means and protection during the Fifth Blight, Cassandra considered. As she waited for the Commander to arrive, she looked through the bookshelf absently. In any event, it was a comfortable room and clearly his sister was woman of sense. It was a trait Cassandra always admired in other women, as well as herself. 

She recognized the weight of Cullen’s fist as he knocked on the door frame and then opened the door gingerly. He was always overly polite, even if it came across as cold or indifferent to some. Her eyes were like daggers as she glared into his soul and pinned him to the wall. This, as he had suspected, was no social call.

“Did you knock in your own house, Cullen?” She inquired sharply, confused at his misplaced courtesy. Cullen’s face flushed as the seeker called him out so naturally. He lowered his eyes to the ground, almost submissively. 

“Cassandra,” he said meekly. “I hope everything is well.” Cullen had the urge to flee, but was held paralyzed by her glare. They stared at one another for a very long moment. The two had faced down false gods, red templars, and dragons. However, those seemed trivial by comparison to the issue that lay between them. Finally, Cassandra broke first. Tears dusted the corner of her eyes as she stepped toward him. As he opened his mouth to breathe, the flat of her fist connected with his cheek bone and Cullen staggered back. It took all of his perseverance to not cry out in agony as the full force of the seeker’s weight was distributed evenly through the attack. He felt each muscle ripple through that strike. It was certain to bruise, and he deserved it, making no attempt to defend himself.

“I’m so sorry... she’s dead, isn’t she?” Cullen said softly. His voice was just above a whisper as he accepted the fact so easily. One more failure to weigh down his soul. Cassandra made a disgusted noise as she regained her composure.

“We are trying everything we can do, but yes, she is dying. That is why I am here,” she said succinctly. Cullen found no relief in her words, realizing there was none to be found there. Rylen was correct then. He stared at the ground, shifting his feet like a lost child.

“Dying?” he asked. He didn’t want to believe it, but allowed Cassandra to speak. 

She seated herself on the other side of the chess board and explained, “Your friend Rylen was not wrong. But you must know the reason why and I know you will return. She is pregnant. We have consulted all of the best healers, mages, and even the practices of Tevinter. She will die, but she wants to have this child, and most of all she wants you to be with her.” Cullen blinked, astonished. 

This news was too much to bear. He could not understand it and asked dumbly, “Pregnant?” He was bewildered, but aware of her delicate constitution. Cullen struggled to find the words to speak and barely controlled the tremble in his hands. First, there was rage at what Solas had done, but none of that compared the sorrow of that her death would bring. 

“I had no idea Cassandra. I would have come sooner if you had told me.” 

She fiddled with the chess pieces on the board as she stated, “She would not allow me to. I am doing this against her wishes. No matter what she has done to you, forgive her and hope she is willing to do the same for you.” There was something amusing about her stern words, perhaps the way her accent played on them. The seeker was burdened as she shouldered a weight he should never have made her bear alone. Even though he felt morose, knowing her death was likely inevitable. He and Cassandra spent the better part of the last fifteen years together. He frowned as he recalled the tenacity of the woman he first met in Kirkwall and the defeated slump of her shoulders which he know observed. This was his fault, and in his own hurt, Cullen had allowed her to bear the burden of Idril’s health alone. 

Cassandra forced herself to not strike Cullen again as he embraced her. Holding her in an intense hug. It was easy to forget how strong the commander was. He did not carry himself like many of the great warriors that she knew, but she melted into his arms regardless.The firm muscles of his chest and arms were a comfort as she realized how much she needed this. 

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. His face still melancholy, even though his worst fears were dissuaded for now. “I will return with you.” Cassandra thanked him wordlessly, finding comfort in his warm presence and strong arms. 

She chuckled, “You know Commander, it is strange to think that we may not have met at all.” 

Cullen found her laughter contagious as he himself giggled, “You’re likely correct. But you and the Inquisitor, you saved me from becoming another Templar begging for lyrium in the streets, speaking in addled poetry.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously before rubbing the back of his neck, “Without both of you I would be nothing, I owe here a debt I will repay. I swear it. But first, we need to explain to my sister why I was hiding in the South Reach.” Cullen did not relish informing his sister about Idril, or that she was dying. She would box his ears until they rang. “I hope you didn’t have any specific diet for Idril. My sister is going to be send as many tiny pastries as she can to the Inquisitor,” he added as an afterthought. 

Cassandra took a deep breath before she explained, “Yes, Dorian has the Inquisitor on a very specific diet focused on her health, while Vivienne is doing something with her magic. Attempting to keep it balanced while the child develops. It is no easy task.” 

As she listed the various measures they went through daily to keep her alive, she stared incredulously while Cullen laughed. “You know Mia won’t allow that. A woman who is giving birth is allowed as many cakes and as much hot cocoa as she likes.” While his wit did not amuse Cassandra, Cullen found it cathartic to laugh. “The Inquisitor deserves the right to enjoy the rest of her life eating cake, at the very least. Certainly, you wouldn’t deny her that,” he offered optimistically. 

The seeker was reluctant to admit that Cullen was correct. “Perhaps you have a point Commander. A little indulgence will not hurt her,” she commented. Though it was difficult to smile, Cassandra found a way to derive joy from the bleak situation they faced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the longer wait, this chapter had to accurately reflect many things, including the regret of a man whose seen too much. I hope that it does not disappoint. Soon we shall see the reunion of Idril and Cullen and what emotions that turmoil brings.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who has read or enjoyed this fic and please comment or ask any questions you like. I am all ears.

**Author's Note:**

> As always I adore your comments and support.


End file.
